


Topless Weekends

by imusuallyobsessed



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Aruba - Freeform, Biting, Bondage, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Honeymoon, Married Couple, Married Sex, Nipple Play, Olicity Valentine's Day Smut-A-Thon, Olicity Valentine's Day Smut-A-Thon 2018, OlicityValentinesDaySmutAThon2018, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual, Smut, loving committed relationships, very well discussed kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 11:49:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13681098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imusuallyobsessed/pseuds/imusuallyobsessed
Summary: Felicity and Oliver have a tradition: topless weekends. Just the two of them, no shirts, for as many days as they can or want. This time, they're in Aruba on their honeymoon. Things start out soft and lazy, but Felicity has plans... the kind she packed rope for.Aka, it's bondage, but it's really about true love.





	Topless Weekends

**Author's Note:**

> The tags are about as much of a mess as this story was when I first put it to paper! I started out with this inspiration about it being all soft and slow... and then my brain took a SHARP right turn and here I am.
> 
> Everything is, as the tags say, SAFE, SANE AND CONSENSUAL. Oliver and Felicity are married and in a loving, committed relationship. This is just them having kinky sex XD
> 
> Hope you enjoy! And Happy Valentine's Day.

“Can you believe it? We’re in Aruba and I’m wearing jeans and I’m not dying of heat stroke.”

“Hon – ”

“This is why I wanted to start my own company! I can finally do research into actually making the world better instead of just slaving away for shareholders!”

“Hon – ”

“And it’s not even about available tech to help stop climate change, it’s about governments refusing – ”

“Felicity.”

Felicity finally jerked up, looking from her laptop to her husband. After a few blinks, reality filtered back in and she realized the error of her ways.

“Oh, right, topless weekend. I’m sorry, baby,” she apologized.

How she could’ve forgotten was beyond her. Topless weekends were a tradition that started on their trip across the world after defeating Ra’s al Ghul. Whenever they were somewhere particularly remote for a few days – the super secluded cabin on the Pacific Crest Trail, that entirely private water villa in Bali during a particularly bad storm – neither of them were allowed to wear a shirt.

Originally, it had been Felicity insisting Oliver not wear shirts. He was still self-conscious around strangers, but with her, in private, she didn’t want anything between them. After one or two of those delicious weekends (that sometimes lasted longer than a few days), he declared it wasn’t fair, and insisted she not wear a shirt either.

In the moment, Oliver grinned, lazy, indulgent, and entirely in love. “I’d have thought being topless would help keep you in the moment.”

Despite everything they’d done since embarking on their honeymoon – and in the past two years in general – Felicity blushed. She was propped up in bed at their gorgeous Airbnb beachfront villa, the more-than-unseasonably cool breeze blowing in from the open windows, with her laptop perched on her lap with a spreadsheet, engineering program, code, and accounting software running in various places.

Ignoring her half-naked husband. On their honeymoon.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized again, scrunching her nose in apology.

They’d woken early and had breakfast, but after lazy morning sex on the counter, they’d tipped back into bed for a nap. Somewhere in there, they put on jeans.

Topless weekends weren’t just about orgasm marathons, though they usually coincided. At its core, it began as a way to be closer. Also, it was physically impossible for two people to have constant sex for forty-eight hours.

Oliver shook his head, gazing at her from where she was propped up on one elbow. “I love everything about you, Felicity. Even when you get so caught up in something, you forget about your poor, half-naked husband.”

And the look on his face – in his eyes – left no doubt. It sometimes still jarred Felicity that Oliver, this beautiful, wonderful, practically perfect (for her) man, truly loved everything about her. Her intelligence, tangents, babbles, single-mindedness. All her strengths, and all her flaws.

But, as he often pointed out, she loved him the same way. And this was how love was supposed to be – giving and taking, bending and sharing. But in the end, equal.

“Apologies, husband,” she drawled, lifting her laptop to put it aside. “Should we get back to it?”

Oliver shook his head again, making Felicity halt. “I know you were in the middle of an email,” he explained. “Send it first.”

Felicity was in severe danger of melting – and not because of the nonexistent Aruban heat.

“I love you so much,” she murmured, setting her laptop back down to finish typing out the last few lines of her email to Curtis. She wanted his thoughts on some of her concepts and theories from an engineering standpoint. Smoak Tech was her baby, but Curtis was a hybrid employee/consultant. Future head of R&D, perhaps, once they got that far. But he let Felicity firmly have the reins, as he both had no interest in being in charge, and it had been Felicity’s genius and ingenuity that brought the company to existence in the first place.

Oliver hummed, his eyes returning to the journal in his hand. He’d gone back to it since their wedding. I don’t want to forget any of this, he’d explained. I want to be able to look back on how I feel right now, forever.

Ugh, the mush factor was real. Felicity loved it.

But today, the familiar sounds of his pen scratching across paper weren’t the same. They were longer and smoother, less the hasty scratches of handwriting. But Felicity didn’t ask. Oliver had shared some of his journal entries with her, and she’d never pushed for more. Oliver would let her into that part of himself at his own pace.

Oliver wasn’t staring at her, per say, but she could feel his eyes on her every few seconds now that she wasn’t lost in a tech bubble. It made her feel more...aware. Every inch of exposed skin prickled like light fingernails were scratching over it, causing goosebumps to ignite in the wake of his gaze. Her breasts felt heavier, nippled pebbling involuntarily under the casual scrutiny.

“Okay...done!” Felicity clicked send, then put the laptop on the table by the bed. She quickly flopped onto her side, arms tucked over her chest as she took in Oliver.

Sprawled on the bed, half a leg under the thin white sheet with the other bent up, propped on one elbow with what seemed like acres of gorgeous, toned body on display… Oliver looked like a heathen god, waiting for tribute.

And he so often worshipped her… Felicity wasn’t above returning the favor.

“Steady, Mrs. Smoak-Queen,” Oliver said, his voice a delicious rumble that sent a shot of heat across Felicity’s skin, from her scalp to her toes. “I’m almost done.”

“With what?” she asked, unable to restrain her curiosity.

He grinned, but was silent for a few more seconds before turning the journal to her. “This.”

It was...a drawing. A shockingly good one of her, actually, from what had been her position just a few minutes ago. Sitting curled against the headboard, laptop under her fingers, looking mid-rant. Her glasses were on the edge of her nose, hair free and wild from the relaxed morning and vacation vibes. It was simple, but…

“Oliver, this is amazing,” she said, tracing her finger across the lines that lovingly created her naked skin on the page.

He shrugged, and Felicity dragged her eyes away from the drawing. Oliver’s cheeks and the tips of his ears were red, and he stared intently at the sheet beneath them.

“Hey,” she said, cupping his scruffy cheek with her free hand and resuming eye contact. “This is beautiful, hon. I… is this the way you see me?”

Beautiful. Powerful. Ethereal, despite the simple setting.

Loved.

All at once, Oliver flipped her on to her back and put a forearm on either side of her to hover over her. Their bodies met around their stomachs – hers soft, his rock hard – and pressed deliciously together all the way down. Felicity arched involuntarily, her breasts instantly begging for attention. Oliver grinned, taking her grabby hands from around his neck and pinning them to the mattress.

Oh.

“You,” kiss, “are,” lick, “so much,” nip, “more gorgeous than that.” His final words were spoken against her lips. She craned her neck as he dove in, their mouths parting instantly for each other, tongues not clashing, but sliding against each other, exploring with thorough devastation.

Felicity tried to wiggle closer, press closer, but Oliver had effectively pinned most of her body, even twining their legs together, until she had nothing to move but her head.

A bolt of lust shot through her at the vulnerability, and she moaned. Oliver grinned in triumph and descended on her neck, gentle enough not to leave marks but rough enough that Felicity felt her skin warming with his scruff. She tried to squirm, but Oliver’s grip was firm.

“These have been tormenting me all day,” he breathed, having worked his way down her neck to her breasts, hot air fanning over her nipples and making them peak instantly. Piercing pleasure slithered from her chest down to her pussy, already swelling and dripping with need.

“It’s only been…a few hours…since we had sex,” Felicity panted, intermixed with groans and moans and sighs as Oliver paid special attention to her breasts, from the soft, swelling sides to the tight, peaked tips.

“I know. Too long.” Oliver licked a firm stripe across her nipple, and Felicity squealed.

Oliver was a converted ass man since they’d started dating. He’d openly admitted, during one of their weekend sex marathons, that he used to be a boob guy, but her ass had made him want to fall to his knees since he first saw it. And he worshiped at the throne at the top of her thighs so often, Felicity knew he was sincere.

But Topless Weekends were when he paid homage to her chest, as if apologizing for straying. He licked, nipped, sucked, bit, rubbed, and did anything else he could think of. Felicity usually ended the weekend with sore boobs and a moratorium on any kind of breast play for a few days, but she never considered stopping. When Oliver had suggested he could go easier on them after one particularly rough weekend, Felicity had apparently looked so scandalized Oliver couldn’t stop laughing for five minutes straight.

So, he worshipped at their altar like a tired supplicant after a pilgrimage. And sometimes, he was willing to indulge her even more than usual.

Felicity slid her arms higher. Oliver wasn’t braced the right way, so his weight helped bring her hands over her head until they knocked against the thick slats of the headboard.

Yeah, Felicity had specifically made sure the same bed in the picture on Airbnb would actually be in the villa.

Oliver looked up from his work, face red and lips swollen from their devoted duty. His eyes darkened when he saw her position, but as always, he had to ask, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Felicity moaned, clear and enthusiastic. With practiced ease and gorgeous athleticism, Oliver twisted around until he could reach the floor, and came up with a collection of bathing suits, crop tops, and a few bralettes. Making due with the thicker-banded bathing suits, he tied the tops around her wrists and lashed them to the headboard, pulling at the bonds just the way Felicity liked to make her groan and arch, her jean-clad legs falling even further open now that she had the space. Why were they still wearing pants? Her husband had moved off her entirely, kneeling between her spread legs. His thick bulge pressed against the zipper of his jeans, but it was like he didn’t even notice. Oliver’s eyes were still hot with lust, raking up and down her exposed body, but a calculating awareness tinged all his movements. 

As long as they were doing this, he wouldn’t entirely let go. He couldn’t let himself. They’d experimented with this before, and she knew he did it for her. Oliver didn’t have a dominating bone in his body, but all his bones wanted to make Felicity happy.

They’d talked about this, too. Since getting back together, they talked about everything. She hadn’t wanted to use him, but he just shook his head and smiled.

‘It’s the same thing with you on top. You know it’s my favorite, so you ride me all the time. Sometimes, you want to be together in a different way. If it really made me uncomfortable, I’d tell you, but it doesn’t. I love you, and I want to do this for you because I love you.’

Well… Felicity was getting used to melting. Her husband was very melt-worthy.

“Color?” he asked. He’d thrown himself into his research with all the diligence he used to protect the city, despite how light Felicity considered their play. But this was what he needed to feel safe, like he was doing the most he could for her. And, because she loved him, she accepted all his terms. Including colors and safe words, which she probably should’ve insisted on herself, but not a single iota of her being didn’t entirely trust Oliver.

“Green,” she groaned, already writhing in her restraints.

“Safe word?”

“Arrow. Please, oh frack -- ”

“Now, now, Felicity.” Oliver’s voice was dark as his eyes. Deep, resounding in her very bones. “You know begging won’t get you anywhere.”

Oliver knew all her buttons. They’d talked this particular kink of hers – dominating, dirty talk with a touch of power imbalance – to death before Oliver had been comfortable enough to do it. And the end product was, Oliver knew exactly what she wanted, even before she did. And he knew exactly how to give it to her.

Felicity gasped, her back practically in a permanent arch. Every inch of her skin felt electric, untouched, begging for it. Because that was it -- she knew begging wouldn’t do anything. Oliver was going to go at precisely the pace he wanted, do exactly as he wanted, and there was nothing Felicity could do but take it.

That’s what made the begging so achingly sweet.

“Please, Mr. Queen,” she sighed, mostly breath, her hips thrusting against nothing. Her jeans felt stifling. Oliver’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t move. “I’ve been so good, please touch me, pleaseplease – ”

“Good? Oh, kitten. You’ve been bad this morning. Strutting around the kitchen, teasing me, then coming in here and ignoring me,” he chastised.

He wasn’t actually mad. They’d already talked about this. But he made it sound so convincing that Felicity’s breath caught.

He continued, “I think a punishment would be more fitting.”

Felicity felt not an ounce of fear. Instead, her skin sang and she moaned, moving her hips more insistently and thrusting her chest into the cool air. She tried to close her legs around Oliver, but he grabbed her ankles and spread them wide -- wider than before -- until her ankles were slung over the edge of the full bed.

“Keep them here, kitten,” Oliver ordered. “You’re already in trouble. I’d hate to punish you more.”

Spread out so, she was entirely on display. Or, she would be.

“I haven’t decided what to do to you, yet. But this is a good place to start.” His hands went to the button of her pants, careful not to touch any of her skin. She moved fitfully, desperate for his skin on hers, and he swatted the inside of her thigh. The light sting through the denim went straight to her dripping cunt and she gasped.

“Be still,” he commanded. “I’m in charge. I’ll touch you, stroke you, fuck you, when I’m ready. Not a moment before.” He reach out and pinched her nipples hard in punishment, not touching any more of her skin, and Felicity cried out as a shot of pure lust sparked her blood.

“Yes, Mr. Queen,” she replied.

“Good girl.” He pinched her nipples one more time – a reward now – before he went back to his work. He unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, and tried to pull them down. But quickly ran into a problem.

“You told me to keep my legs here, Mr. Queen,” Felicity explained, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she wiggled her toes slung over the edges of the bed.

Oliver smacked her on the side of one ass cheek, almost on the flank of her thigh. Felicity sighed. Frack, he really does love me. That kink – spanking – had taken them several sessions to even begin to introduce, due to Oliver’s skittishness and pure rejection of the idea of ever hurting her. But she’d demonstrated how an edge of pain could leak into pleasure one night while riding him, with her nails liberally applied to his chest. He’d gone to work with long, red marks under his dress shirt and an understanding of her point of view. His touch was still far more gentle than some darker parts of Felicity wanted to try, but Oliver had hard limits, too. Felicity wouldn’t push them.

Oliver took her ankles again and raised them perpendicular to the mattress, parallel to his body, so she made a large L. “Stay,” he said. He pulled the jeans out from under her ass, rubbing it liberally along the way, then brought them up her legs until they were free and tossed to the floor. Felicity was thankful she’d been getting into yoga, because she was able to engage her core and keep her legs perfectly straight and still.

His hands once again on her ankles – skin on skin, but not enough, not nearly enough – he brought her legs down in an arc, like a fan, until they were once again hooked over the edge of the mattress. This time, he pushed them even higher, closer to her torso, so her legs were bent sharply at the knee and she was entirely, helplessly open to him. And with her body contorted this way, she could barely even wiggle except to raise her chest higher, hoping, praying he’d touch her.

“Do it,” she murmured, not quite begging anymore. Felicity again, not kitten.

Oliver hesitated. The first flicker of uncertainty since they’d started.

“Color?” he asked. Demanded. But it was gentle, back to her husband. Oliver. Honey. My love. Not Mr. Queen.

“So green, dear God.”

Another pre-discussed kink. They’d been talking about it for a while, but they’d been on the plane to Aruba when Felicity whispered in Oliver’s ear that she wanted to try it on their honeymoon. He’d been nervous, but as open as he’d been to everything Felicity asked of him.

Oliver got off the bed this time, running the edge of one of his nails teasingly – threateningly – down the inside of one thigh to the soft flesh behind her knee. She whimpered, unable to stop herself, and he grinned.

He went to Felicity’s suitcase and brought out the thick, soft nylon rope she’d brought specifically for this occasion. He snapped it taut a few times, as if testing its strength with feigned disinterest. Each loud crack ratcheted Felicity’s pleasure higher, making her clit throb and pussy clench around nothing.

He walked back to the bed with measured steps – stalking. Once there, he toyed with the rope a few moments longer before locking eyes with her.

“If you feel any pinching, discomfort, or numbing, you will tell me,” he commanded. Non-negotiable with any safe, sane and consensual relationship, but Oliver always hammered the point home. He had associations with these things Felicity didn’t, and he’d done his best to re-calibrate that part of her brain to make her happy.

So, all she said was, “Yes, Mr. Queen.”

“Felicity – ”

“Yes, Oliver.”

With that, he took the first length of rope and looped it under the bend of her knee, drawing the longer end around a slat in the headboard before tying the ends together. Tight. Her knee was now almost on the same level as her breast, her legs curled up but on the same plane as her prone body. Just a hair higher than Oliver had placed them before. The discomfort was minimal, truly, and only added to Felicity’s awareness and pleasure.

He paused, and even before he could ask Felicity was murmuring, “Green, green, oh frack, green, please – ”

“Shh… quiet, kitten,” Oliver murmured, but it was no less an order. Felicity swallowed her next words as Oliver tugged the rope, checking the knot. Of course, he’d tugged it up. A little stretch, a little burn, and Felicity was puddy in his hands.

He made quick work of the other leg until Felicity was stuck fast. In this position, she really couldn’t move. Her weight kept her chest down, her legs and arms were immobile. If she had the presence of mind she might’ve been able to lift her head, but she was lost in a haze of pleasure.

“Perfect,” Oliver purred, running a two heavy, lazy fingers from the dip between her collarbones, briefly detouring across her nipples, light as a feather, and dripping into her belly button to finally stop at the tip of her aching slit, spread open and on display for him. So, so close, but so far from where she was desperate and dripping for him. Even more open than usual, as Felicity had indulged in a full wax before their trip. Her legs twitched, but she could move no more. “I can finally take my time without you interrupting me.”

And oh, did he take his time. Starting with the top of her head, he worked his lips across every available patch of skin, digging in to the more sensitive areas – like the hollow behind her ear – with his scruff. He snagged her earlobe with his teeth, giving it a gentle nip that sent electricity down her body, making her nipples somehow impossibly harder and her pussy gush. He hovered over her, only touching her with his mouth, and Felicity was helpless to his meditated onslaught. She was gasping, begging with out words since her mind processed their futility, her skin desperate for more of him.

But, she was still Felicity. Words couldn’t stay gone long.

As his lips trekked across her skin, Felicity couldn’t help herself, “Oliver, come on, please just touch me. I -- ahh!”

The cry was one oh-so distinctly of pleasure as Oliver unexpectedly skipped across some skin and bit down on her nipple, pinching the other between two fingernails in punishment. The twin sharpness turned her to a pillar of pleasure, and she was silenced with gasps.

“You know the rules, my needy kitten.” He soothed each breast, his soft lips and tongue to the one he’d pinched and gentle fingers to the one he’d bitten. “And I am touching you.” His hot breath fanning over her skin as he went back to pay homage to her neck before moving further down to the top swells of her breasts. His tongue darted out, burning the curve of her skin, and Felicity’s mouth fell open with more desperate pleas.

Oliver wouldn’t be moved. Or, he wouldn’t be moved at any pace faster than exactly what he wanted. It was torturous, laying under the warm, gorgeous body she was used to having free reign over as he worked her, cranking her pleasure higher and higher. They’d been together too long, he knew her too well, to be anything other than an absolute master over her body. He knew exactly how to touch, stroke, and tease her to oblivion, exactly where she wanted to be, writhing and begging beneath him.

One of her favorites was when he deliberately scraped his scruff across her hard nipples, the little pricks of pleasure doing more for her than she thought possible. Oliver did so liberally this time, ignoring her wiggles and squeals. Her nipples were puffy and sensitive, as they always were after a topless weekend, but she wouldn’t have given up the impossible pleasure for anything.

Every touch was fire. Since he held himself away from her, every brush of skin was seared into her brain like lightning.

He made his way down her body like the journey was more important than the destination. Which, perhaps it was to him, but Felicity’s babbles were increasing in pitch and desperation because the destination was pretty damn important to her.

He hadn’t touched her pussy once. Her clit was practically burning with need, on display and framed by her spread lips. Her opening clenched around air, begging to be filled, and he hadn’t even stuck one finger inside her yet. Felicity would’ve sworn she was close to cumming several times throughout Oliver’s erotic torture, but when she started her mantra -- I’m cumming, I’m cumming, oh Oliver -- he just gave her a dark, dirty grin. He knew the truth. Felicity couldn’t come without some sort of clit stimulation, and he was never above using that to his advantage. That, and a filthy, ‘Good girls don’t come without permission, kitten.’

Finally, after what felt like a hundred years drowning in erotic pleasure, Oliver’s lips came to her mound. He’s carefully bypassed it earlier on his way down her body. She’d cried out – almost a sob – when he stopped his lips right where her tan faded into pale skin and skipped over the most needy part of her to her ankles. The trip up both legs had been excruciating, but he was finally done.

She was still speaking, but it was nonsensical. Not even his name came out clearly, nor any of her wrecked pleas.

“What do you want, kitten?” Oliver murmured, just chin brushing against the top of her slit as his lips and tongue caressed the top of her bare mound.

Felicity groaned, still unable to form words, her eyes long since clenched shut.

Oliver wasn’t having that.

She squealed, jerking helplessly in her bonds when Oliver sank his teeth into the sensitive skin above her clit. He held her in his mouth, sucking deep for several seconds before finally letting go. “You know the rules. Use your words.”

“Ol-i-ver…”

He knew her. By this point, conscious thought was gone. He pressed his thumbs on either side of her opening, pushing her lips out and putting her even more on display. Felicity whimpered.

“Words, Felicity.” Oliver propped his chin on her mound, pressing just enough into her skin so she felt the delicious burn.

“Gah -- ”

“Come on, baby.”

“Touch me.”

Oliver chuckled, pressing a firm kiss into her skin. “I am, hon. Be specific.”

Felicity felt like she was on fire. How had Oliver not gotten burned touching her? She felt like her skin was going to make the bed erupt. Her desperation needed a physical outlet, but she couldn’t move and the frustration and pent-up erotic energy set her practically vibrating.

“Kiss me,” she begged, ruined.

But even that wasn’t enough.

“I just did, kitten.”

“My pussy, please, frack, eat me -- ”

Oliver complied. He dove in like a starved man, licked her from tail to tip, and she couldn’t contain a scream. If she had more presence of mind, she would’ve sent up thanks for the insanely private location of their villa. Police knocking down the door would’ve really killed the mood.

He used tongue, teeth, scruff, every tool at his disposal with devastating accuracy. He nibbled her lips, spread her wider still with his fingers, licked deep into her cunt, and rubbed his delicious scruff against every part he could he set her sensitive skin tingling.

Through it all, he avoided her clit. It was out from under its hood, desperate for attention, but Oliver was very pointedly not giving it any. Felicity was in incoherent again, or she would’ve been begging.

After seconds -- hours -- days -- however long, Felicity let out a broken sob. She couldn’t take it anymore. “Oliver -- please -- I need -- ”

But Oliver just kept going, touching her everywhere except the only place that would get her off. She knew what he wanted from her, but it still took her several agonizing seconds to scrape together enough will and coherency to beg, “Can I cum, Mr. Queen? Please – ”

He moved like lightning, roughly pinching her clit, and her vision went white.

Felicity was lost in a haze of inescapable pleasure for who knew how long. When she finally came back to herself, a feeling much like how she imagined it felt for a bird to land on a branch, the first thing she felt was warm.

So warm, content, and the most delicious type of sore. Her body was free from its bonds, but hot, smooth skin was wrapped almost entirely around her, pressing her into her husband’s familiar chest. Her legs were curled up under her, Oliver’s thick thighs tangling with them. He stroked her hair, gentle as a breeze, and was whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

“You back, Felicity?” he murmured, keeping his tone low. She nodded, feeling more and more of her body come online. Once she could, she unfolded her arms from the space between them and wrapped them around Oliver.

She wasn’t the only one who needed comfort after a scene. They were usually just as hard on Oliver as they were on her, and he needed the intimacy to fully come down. To be able to turn off that part of himself that was intimately and entirely fixed on Felicity and her safety -- at least, more so than usual.

“Everything okay?” he asked, rubbing his other hand down her back.

She nodded again. “Sore, but nothing unusual. That was...so amazing. Everything I wanted and more,” she said, pressing a kiss to the skin between his collarbones. Oliver shivered and held her even tighter.

“You?” she asked. Once (and only once), Oliver had gone into a flashback during one of their scenes. They’d stopped playing for months while they worked through it, until Oliver was comfortable enough to try again. These days they talked even more than before about comfort, limits, and everything in between, but she still had to put in the proper aftercare.

“Yeah.” His voice cracked with emotion. “It was intense, but I was here the whole time. And I loved how...desperate you were. How much you needed me.”

Felicity knew what confessions cost him, and she slid even closer, wrapping one leg over his hip and gently running her nails across his back. “I always need you,” she said. “But I’m happy you enjoyed yourself. I know we did more than usual.”

He smiled – a little thing that lit up his eyes – and she knew he was coming fully back to himself. “I love how much you trust me. To do these things for you. To see that part of you.”

Felicity pressed a soft kiss to his lips. They kept it chaste, and the quiet intimacy made her toes curl. “Only you, Oliver. There’s never been anyone else I trust like I trust you.”

Oliver gave a full body shudder, and they cuddled impossibly closer, lost in the moment with each other.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what did you think? I'm a bit nervous to post this as it's outside my usual, but I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I could also be tempted to do more drabbles themed around topless weekends... let me know if you'd want that!
> 
> Tumblr: @imusuallyobsessed  
> Twitter: @usuallyobsessed


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